Heart of Stone by Rebecca Ruger

Chapter Ten

Calum watched her sleep.

He couldn’t not, he knew, not tonight. Not after her magnificence today. All of it.

At first, he’d only turned his head on the bed of hay to spy on her, trying to determine that she was indeed sleeping. When he was assured that she was, he’d rolled onto his side and faced her.

Gently, Calum pushed at a lock of her hair, moving the soft blonde tress away from her cheek.

He’d known exactly what she’d been about this evening, that she’d been ill at ease with the eerie and uncomfortable silence, that she didn’t want the events of the day—gruesome though they were—to cast any dark shadows over the meal, or cling to Mairi, or bring sadness into the fold.

Nicol Waiddo was obviously daft and didn’t deserve her, was the easiest truth to come by.

Anything else, such as the pride he felt at her behavior this evening, or his complete inability to keep his regard from her, or damn, the relentless longing to kiss her again, were baffling and so out of line with who she was and what she was. It was wrong, all of it, everything he felt inside, and in such contrast to what they were—once betrothed but since betrayed.

All his life, two things had been ingrained into him, by both his father and his mother. He must be a man of honor and integrity, and he must never betray Scotland. He’d spent his entire life, nearly thirty years, trying to live up to those ideals. It had never been easy. Hard decisions were a way of life, the lines between right and wrong sometimes gray. But he’d not compromised his principles, didn’t make excuses for failure, kept his word and fulfilled his obligations to the best of his ability. He’d defended his beloved Scotland and was loyal to his kin and his home and his country.

He was not perfect, far from it, but he clung to a basic tenet that his mother had begged of him. She’d encompassed all that was expected of him into one goal: Be a good man.

But then, Julianna.

Perhaps by now he did fully believe that she hadn’t any part in the ambush. And despite the fact that he’d not ever in his life met a person such as her, resilient and earnest and so bluidy captivating, he couldn’t any longer cling to some hope that she was, underneath the supposed façade, exactly like her stepfather—guilty and evil and deserving of his derision—simply to justify his original want to see her punished.

He’d been taught that actions begot reactions. Crimes begot punishment. Wrongs must be righted, and betrayal must be avenged. Naturally, he’d already wondered if he should have stayed at Kinclaven, should have taken out his anger and vengeance at the moment. Of course, it would have been suicide, six men against an army of fifty or more, whatever Faucht had at his disposal. And yet, Rory’s death and the treachery itself required retaliation. He might yet return to Caerhayes, explain to Domhnall what had transpired, and march back with his own army, but Julianna would still be in danger from his uncle, he feared.

And then, Angus Faucht was also a threat to her. Calum truly believed that, or more precisely, knowing Julianna Elliot now, he didn’t want her within ten feet of her stepfather, that he had no plans to free her and send her home. She would be at risk, in some fashion, if he simply returned her to Kinclaven, of that he was sure.

At this point, his plan was to believe that he could convince Domhnall that she hadn’t anything to do with the attack, that he’d saved her from her stepfather’s wicked ambitions, that she was innocent. Domhnall was difficult and often surly, sometimes displayed so much inability to be reasonable but Calum would hold firm, that she was not to be executed.

He clung to this as his only option just now to keep her safe.

***

FINN YANKED ON PEADAR’Scollar as he made to follow Calum and Julianna from the barn and into the house the next morning. “Hold tight, lad.” He watched until Calum and Julianna had disappeared inside the croft, releasing Peadar’s collar and giving him a pat on the shoulder. He turned then to the MacKinnon men and took a deep breath.

“She canna die,” Finn said abruptly. “We canna let him have her executed.”

The five men around Finn exchanged varying reactions and expressions.

But no one insisted that she must die.

“He will no’ have her executed now,” Artur guessed, though the hesitance in his tone hinted that he wasn’t sure.

“Ye want to take that chance, that we get to Caerhayes, and he still believes he must?” Finn asked, his brows lifted into the middle of his forehead. “Or that Domhnall dinna insist on it himself when he hears?”

“Why’s he got to ken?” Artur argued, his straight brows moving in the opposite direction, gathering over his black eyes.

Finn rolled his eyes. “He’ll be wanting to ken why Cal dinna wed her, wanting to ken where Rory is!”

“Shite.”

No one else offered anything, either arguments for or against what Finn was proposing, that Finn pushed, “Are we all in agreement then?” His lifted brow suggested there was only one answer he expected.

“That Waiddo was an eejit? Aye.” This, from Peadar, who still was having trouble understanding how a man could ignore Julianna Elliot.

“Aye, aye,” came more accord.

Finn grinned, acknowledging, “Aye. That, too. And that we dinna let Cal bring her all the way to Caerhayes. We find a way to get her off somewhere. I’m thinking a convent is a good place. We dinna want her returned to her stepfather, dinna want her subjected to his kind of evil. Aye?”

“Aye.”

“Near Laggan might be good,” Artur offered. “We’re going that way.”

Tomag nodded, wagging his finger into the center of their circle as a thought came to him. “Aye, there’s a priory there—Murkle or Gloster, something like that.”

“Close enough to Caerhayes if she needed to reach out to one of us for...anything,” said Peadar.

“But far enough away that Cal’ll no’ be able to find her.”

Artur scratched at his head. “Seems a waste, though. Canna picture the lass taking up the cloth.”

This quieted them, and they sagged with some defeat.

But then Booth supposed, “Might be, she only stays there a bit. Then she might find her own living or...I dinna ken—”

“She could wed—someone of her own choosing,” Peadar suggested as a possibility.

Artur shrugged, though remained unconvinced. “Could be. Marrying’d be better than dying, I’d wager.”

Finn screwed up his face at his long-time friend. “But ye’ve met my wife, ’ave ye no’?”

A bit of chortling ensued, until Finn insisted, “Julianna’ll no’ take an eejit to husband. She’d make a good choice, I ken.”

“Aye,” they all agreed once more.

“We can figure out the particulars when we get near Laggan,” Finn said. “I’ll take responsibility for it. He needn’t be pissed at all of us. He’ll get over it.”

“He’ll get over her, ye think?” Artur wondered with some gravity.

“That’s his problem,” Finn asserted with some crustiness. “And like that eejit Waiddo, that’s what he gets for no’ doing right by her.”

“We canna ever tell him where she’s at then,” Booth said, looking uncomfortable with this assumption, as if he wondered if he’d be able to keep it from Calum, if pressured.

“No’ ever. Under no circumstances,” Finn insisted.

There was some hesitation then, but they did all finally agree.

***

HE NEVER LIKED LEAVINGRobbie and Beitris, but this departure was particularly hard, though Calum couldn’t have said why.

Beitris didn’t help. Before Calum might have dug into the porridge she’d set on the table when he and Julianna had arrived this morning, Beitris set a hard glare onto Calum and made several motions with her head. She’d quickly grown irritable until Calum had understood she wanted a private word with him.

He followed her outside, both of them ignoring Julianna’s curious gaze chasing them.

Beitris had marched, hands on her hips that Calum understood he was in for a scolding, all the way to the barn. Calum’s concern over what trouble Beitris was about to bring to him was momentarily forgotten when the barn door was dragged open and his men all spilled out. He’d left the door open, hadn’t he? Weren’t they right behind him?

They seemed as surprised as he at this, not one of them able to conceal their great, guilty expressions. Whatever they’d been about behind closed doors, it wasn’t good. But then it was not unknown that they talked behind his back, blew off steam to their captain, or brought concerns to Finn that he then decided were worthy or not of Calum’s time or attention.

Finn rubbed his hands together, saying anxiously to Beitris while he averted Calum’s eye, “Looking forward to your sweet porridge, ma’am. Hoping there’s some berries in it.”

As they walked past Calum and Beitris, she stopped, and flapped a cloth she’d held in her hand toward the croft. Distractedly, she said, “Get in there. Plenty left.” And when they’d disappeared in to the house, Beitris took a deep breath and lanced Calum with a very direct question. “What are your plans for Julianna?” She plunked her hands back onto her hips.

Calum shrugged, lifting his hands, silently asking for the deeper meaning to this base question, to which she already knew the answer.

“She’s to travel with us to—”

Beitris cut him off, nodding impatiently. “Aye, you’ve said. And I’ve the entire story from Robbie, as the lass would tell me nothing.” Her voice rose, became strident and she wagged that cloth up in Calum’s face. “If you’re still planning on having her killed, I’ll tell you right now, Calum MacKinnon, you’ll no’ ever be welcome here again and I—”

“Whoa. Whoa, Beitris,” he pleaded, recognizing that she appeared on the verge of tears. “She will no’ be executed,” he tried to tell her.

But Beitris had things to say and would not be deterred, wasn’t listening in fact. “You’re going to stand there and tell me you actually think that sweet lass had anything to do with any plot that would see a person harmed? You dinna believe that her running outside those gates—and being fired upon herself!—dinna scream that she knew nothing of the plan—”

Calum took her sturdy arms into his hands and gave her a tiny shake. “Beitris, she will no’ die. Nae, I dinna believe anymore that she was a party to it.”

This only aggrieved Beitris further. “Then why are ye takin’ her with ye? Why put her anywhere near that uncle of yours? Ye ken he’s half batty and the other half ain’t so good either.”

“What would you have me do? I canna send her back home and—”

Her eyebrows shot into her forehead. “Leave her here!” She hollered, as if the answer were obvious.

Calum released Beitris, letting his fisted hands fall to his sides. In his mind flashed the picture of Julianna running toward him from that jutting garden, her terror unlikely to be forgotten; the sounds of her cries were still a knife to his heart. But that was only part of the reason he would not abandon Julianna to Robbie and Beitris.

He shook his head, about to defend himself, and clarify some things to her. She wouldn’t let him, of course. She seized on his bare hesitation, more arguments bursting from her. “You leave her here, in our good hands, Calum MacKinnon, or you dinna ever return, bent on keeping her prisoner or seeing her dead. I willna have it, do you hear? I ’ave enough of the stubbornness with that one in there but I dinna want my children to ken such heartlessness as what you’re planning.”

Her rounded shoulders lost all their indignation, folding forward with the last of her words, the wind sucked right out of her. A lone tear fell with her distress, believing she’d made no headway with him.

Calum didn’t know how to put it in words, hadn’t fully grasped the essence of all the thoughts that had plagued him overnight—or since he’d met Julianna Elliot. He gave Beitris the only truth he knew.

“Beitris, I...I canna give her up.”

“Oh.” And that was all. Her mouth moved but no more sound came. Though the admission had been spare, surely his ragged tone spoke volumes that Beitris seemed to comprehend. Her breathing quickened and finally, some lightness came to her eyes. She smiled, slowly at first, complete with its own breathy noise while she digested this, and then larger, stammering, “Oh, well then...and there ye have it. So be it.”

***

JULIANNA’S NERVES WEREshot. Leaving Mairi and Beitris—all of them—had been gut wrenching. Beitris’s cheery farewell had dumbfounded Julianna, being that it was jolly enough that Julianna had no choice but to wonder if she were happy to see her go. Mayhap she only wanted the trouble of the circumstance away from her door, was all that Julianna could imagine.

She wept quietly into her chest for a long time, unable to wipe from her mind the image of Mairi’s tearful goodbye, nor of the lass chasing after the departing horses, her cries breaking Julianna’s heart. Mayhap Calum knew that she cried now, she couldn’t be sure, but she did make some effort to keep the noise and upset to a minimum as he’d been so cool to her all morning. She hadn’t the energy to ask what she might have done to upset him today. At this point she didn’t care. Let him have his moods and his stoicism and his detachment.

Leaving the croft was made all the more unbearable because she believed their next stop must surely be Caerhayes, where she would die. Part of her was yet furious about this, and then wondering why Calum had even bothered to save her yesterday? Was it some kind of man and power thing—the wolf doesn’t share the spoils he hunted? Not that she wasn’t appreciative of his timely intervention, as what those men had planned for her conceivably would have been so much worse than a clean death. Mayhap the backward gratefulness she’d given him yesterday had irked him. This was plausible, she knew, her words given so carelessly as to be offensive, and when his hands were yet covered in blood on her behalf.

“Enough,” she chided herself. She froze then, realizing she’d spoken aloud, and that Calum had stiffened behind her. She waited a moment, but he said nothing. Returning to her own painful thoughts, she realized she might chastise herself for hours on end, but it would likely have little effect. It was not as if she could turn off her brain or convince herself that she needn’t be unsettled by what lie ahead.

They stopped as they had during previous portions of this journey around the noon hour, only to rest the horses for a wee bit and see to personal needs. Calum dismounted and lifted a questioning gaze to her, as sometimes the lads would remain upon their steeds, if they hadn’t any other business. He wondered if she were dismounting or not.

She leaned toward him, reaching for his broad shoulders. “I would stretch my legs.” His response had been as routine as hers, his hands had lifted and encircled her waist. He was yet aloof, she saw, and was sorry for this. Life was hard enough, her end might well be near, and everything was awful again.

She recalled his query to her of the other night and before she might have turned and walked away, she asked, “Did something happen?”

He, too, had been about to turn away, had already taken his gaze from her, but it swung back to her swiftly at her question. He was considering his answer, she could well see, which elicited a frown from her and a hearty dose of concern, which was grossly misplaced but could not be diminished. He did not meet her gaze; indeed, he was staring at her mouth while his own opened as if he might answer now.

Then he clamped his jaw tight.

“Calum?”

He shook his head in the negative even as he gave her a positive response, though it answered nothing. “Nothing happened.”

“Are you...just sad to leave Robbie and Beitris?” This would appease her, as it made perfect sense and would explain his behavior all morning and thus, relieve Julianna of any singular responsibility for his sour mood.

“Aye, I am that, but....”

Julianna lifted her brow with some encouragement as he wouldn’t allow the remainder of his thoughts to become words.

“We’ll talk later,” he said finally. “Tonight, when we camp.”

Julianna’s heart tripped, but she couldn’t decide if it were fear or anxiety suddenly pounding against her ribcage. With a small nod, she did then walk around him, with her original intent to stretch her legs.

She’d found some privacy behind a tall rock covered in brush and a gangly rowan tree and then paced for several minutes beside Calum’s horse to stretch her legs before the most amazing and confounding thing dawned on her.

She came to an abrupt halt, turning this way and that, from where they’d come to where they were bound. Tipping her head back at the sky showed the sun directly overhead, no help at all. But could she be right? Were they—

Julianna turned to where the others were gathered, closed in a circle with no more than twenty or so feet between all the men and all the horses. Finn was lying upon the ground on his back, his booted feet crossed at his ankles, his arm slung over his head. He was known for catching his winks, as he often said, where he might. Peadar and Tomag waited yet on their big destriers. Artur was in conversation with Calum, the latter’s hands on his hips while his head was bent toward Artur and he nodded at whatever he was saying. Booth was nowhere in sight.

“We’re headed south,” Julianna stated, loud enough that any might hear and respond.

Everyone looked at her. Calum swiveled his head without moving his feet. Artur frowned at the interruption but said nothing. Finn moved his arm away from his eyes and squinted up at her. The lads on their horses exchanged quizzical glances. Booth returned from wherever he’d gone, looking around at all of them with some confusion.

“What?” Booth asked.

“We’re headed south?” This, now, a question, one she needed answered.

“Southeast, actually,” Calum said, turning around fully now.

Julianna huffed. What? She blew a snort through her lips and glared at Calum. “Why?”

His eyes narrowed. Her upset could not be hidden, that already he was wondering at the reason behind it, she could see. “We’ve another stop to make before we head north for good. We’re hoping to meet up with—”

“Oh, sweet Jesus! Why?” There was no way to keep the anguish from her voice. This brought Finn to a seated position. Julianna gave a little chuckle that contained no humor. “Why are you doing this to me?” At their blank expressions, uniform across all the men before her, she threw up her hands. “Why must you prolong this? Or is that part of the sentence, traveling so annoyingly east and west rather than due north? For what purpose? That I might suffer all the more for the wretched and constant anxiety plaguing me?” She moved her eyes around the group, excluding none from her rant or her censure. Each question posed was swathed in unsmiling laughter, so incredulous at how coldhearted they were. “Why stop at Robbie and Beitris’s place? Why would you do that to me? Show me all those lovely people in their sweet little home and those beautiful bairns? Was it planned? To give me bits of things I’ll never know? Tease me with a babe, knowing I’ll never have my own?” She’d lost all control, and there was no scornful humor in her tone anymore. She was only shrill and erratic and damn them, just trying to understand how they could be so cruel. “Just get on with it!” She cried at them. “Take me to Caerhayes! Take me to your uncle. Get it done. Let it be over. But please...dear Lord, please, stop torturing me.”

Her entire body quivered. She hated them, hated them all with their fake kindness and pretense of friendship.

She let her fiery gaze fall onto Calum with blazing contempt. “Is this honorable? Never mind that you will not listen to me, that I had no part in it. Are these the actions of an honorable man? To parade me all around the entire bluidy country before you bring me home to your family for the execution? I’ve begged you. Be done with it already! Or...or I swear now on my own cold, dead heart, I will haunt you. Ceaselessly. Endlessly. Until you beg for mercy,” she cried, finishing with a pathetic weeping, “and I will not give it!”

No one moved. Not a word was said. But then, not one of them removed their gazes from her, as shocked as her by so ferocious an outburst. Artur’s eyes were blue, she could see for the first time, the normally skinny slits of his eyes wild and wide at this moment. Finn’s mouth hung open, since it had when she began her tirade, as he appeared somehow powerless to close it.

She breathed raggedly and her legs wobbled. But then she was yet steeped in so much resentment, she swiped angrily at the tears that fell, using the sleeve of Beitris’s gown to dispose of them.

It wasn’t long and while no one moved yet that shame overtook her. She stared at the ground beneath her, rolling her lips inward as she suspected she would be unable to contain the full sob that wanted to come.

Oh, God. Why had she done that? She’d just proven that she was no better than any one of them for such an indefensible eruption. Spent, she sagged to her knees, the heavy skirts of Beitris’s gown puffing and pooling all around her. She was even too exhausted to lift her hands to cover her face, to hide herself from them.

She had some absurd thought that while men might hope to die bravely and with honor, remembered for their heroic deeds and the way they had met their death, women possibly only wanted a painless death and not to be remembered as a shrew. Or, mayhap, ’tis but my own thinking at this very moment. She hadn’t done anything great in her short life to be remembered with any fondness outside of her sisters, she guessed. But then, she didn’t want these men thinking poorly of her, sitting around a camp fire at night reminiscing about, the time the shrew from Kinclaven thought she’d give us a good talking to!

I am losing my mind,she decided.

Calum’s boot stepped into her line of vision. He sunk onto his haunches.

Julianna didn’t—couldn’t—raise her weary gaze to him. Remorse consumed her.

“You will no’ die,” his tone was brutal, so hard and gruff that of course she could not believe him.

But she nodded anyway, unwilling to engage him. It mattered not.

His hand appeared, his fingers stretching out to lift her chin. “Julianna, I will no’ let you die.”

A compliant and willing prisoner was so much easier to transfer and contend with, she had to imagine.

“Very well. Thank you.” Her voice was small, but she supposed this was the appropriate response.

I gave up too easily, she concluded, her thoughts scattered. In the beginning. I should have escaped, should have kept trying until I was free. Or dead.

Without a by-your-leave, Calum gathered her into his arms and stood. Julianna did not protest.

He set her on his big black and climbed up behind her. His strong arms closed securely around her.

“You rest now, lass.”

She did so, let her head loll against his chest.

If only he hadn’t kissed me. She would have continued to fight for freedom, she believed.

“We’ll break early tonight,” he said, his voice level now, nearly soothing. “A good night’s sleep, you’ll be right as rain come the morn.”

God in heaven. I gave up my freedom, condemned myself to death as it were, hoping for only a smile from him.

Julianna began to weep, soft and low, as Calum directed the steed into a slow walk over the rock-strewn landscape.

“Dinna cry no more, lass.”